


Days Like These

by inconocible



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottoming, Breathplay (mild), Ch. 2 is mostly just porn. porn with so many feelings, Comfort Sex, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, I'm lying a little bit there is so little plot in ch. 2, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Nick is a cop, Nick is in a really bad headspace, Night Terrors, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Shameless Smut, Skype Sex, Smut, Sorry nicko :(, Wall Sex, implications of PTSD, so much porn but so many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconocible/pseuds/inconocible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If love is about showing up, is about being there, Kelly thinks, then he’s always loved Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> understand that it's days like these, when the world is so hard to please: in you, my heart has found a home.

**The first time** they have the conversation, no one speaks.

It’s five in the morning and a Saturday and his off weekend and Nick has no reason at all to be awake, so naturally, he is. Nothing woke him but his own internal clock – no night terrors, shockingly, just the fact that he ought to be up and heading to work. Instead he presses back, snuggling more deeply into Kelly’s hold on him.

Not shockingly, he thinks, grabbing the thought of surprise about his lack of nightmares and turning it over in his mind. He is aware of Kelly’s arm draped heavily across his ribcage, of Kelly’s fingers splayed wide over his chest, of Kelly’s chin pressed into his back, of Kelly’s steady, soothing breathing. Of Kelly.

The feel of Kelly’s hand on his chest pulls Nick randomly into a surprisingly visceral memory of the airport in Cologne in, like, 1996? ‘97?: Waking up after a quality floor-nap with his feet propped on his seabag, his head on Kelly’s thigh, and one of Kelly’s hands flat and tight against his chest, protective, as Kelly slept sitting up against the wall. God, they were so young. That day, they were on the way back to Lejeune, and had been travelling for 36 hours already, and Nick had been hopped up on sleeplessness and nerves at the prospect of seeing his dad again for the first time since graduating from basic – the first time since his graduation from basic that his mom had fought Nick’s request for no family at the homecoming. They were going to be there, she’d said. Damn if he wasn’t anxious.

He’d been slumped against the wall next to Kelly, checking his watch practically every other second and fidgeting like none other as they’d watched the rest of their newly-minted team taking advantage of the 10-hour layover, sprawled sleeping over the floor and their seabags and the uncomfortable airport chairs. Kelly had finally sighed dramatically and wrapped his arm around Nick’s shoulders and had said, “Take a fucking nap, Lucky. I promise we won’t miss the boarding call.” Nick had rolled his eyes at that but Kelly had just whispered, “Relax, Nicko. I got you,” and finally Nick had laid his head on Kelly’s shoulder and closed his eyes and woken up three hours later somehow lying pillowed against Kelly, more refreshed than he’d expected to be.

This morning, Nick smiles to himself and lays his hand over Kelly’s, winding their fingers together, listening to the ocean gently slapping the hull of the _Fiddler_ , to cold rain beating down on the deck. He thinks about all those times that Kelly somehow just knew. That Kelly took care of him without him having to ask. He sighs softly, moving one of his feet gently between Kelly’s under the sheets. Kelly stirs at that, and Nick mentally winces, not wanting to wake his sleeping lover. But Kelly’s breathing still holds that slow, steady rhythm, and Nick relaxes again, pressing in closer.

Kelly grunts in his sleep, and shifts his hips, and Nick feels Kelly’s morning erection pressing against his backside. After last night’s rough romp, neither of them had bothered with putting underwear back on, had just barely managed to drag themselves to the galley for Gatorade before collapsing, wrung out in the best kind of way, back into bed.

Nick considers the merits of rolling over and jumping Kelly, and his own dick responds nearly automatically to the thought. But he’s so warm, and so happy to be just wrapped up in Kelly’s arms, finally after the tumult of the past several months: The unexpected deployment, the insane 48 hours in Baltimore, two weeks apart, the "vacation" to Scotland, the surgery – and now, finally, some rest. Peaceful. Plus, he knows from so many long years that there’d better be a damn good reason to wake the Doc up before sunrise. Sex… can wait.

But the thought of sex combined with the soft ache in his muscles from last night’s festivities and the feel of Kelly’s hardening dick against his left ass cheek is making it hard to settle down and go back to sleep. Nick huffs out a breath of frustration and shifts again, trying to relieve his growing situation, but all it does is cause Kelly’s dick to press closer to the cleft of Nick’s ass.

“I don’t bottom easily,” is basically all he had told Kelly at the start of their adventure into romance, and that was true, but it wasn’t the entire story. The entire story was… too painful to think about. Was that one guy he was sleeping with to get over the weird feeling of jealousy and nausea he had when Kelly had started dating Marissa in Jacksonville. Was a bad headspace. Was pain. Nick hadn’t wanted any of that associated with his feelings about Kelly now.

But this morning, as Kelly’s dick lies flush against the cleft of Nick’s ass, he thinks about it. He thinks about it hypothetically, in the future tense.

It’s not something Nick would ever want to _take_ from Kelly. But if Kelly ever _asked_ …

Nick bites his lip. God, his raging morning hard-on is not helping the whole _don’t wake Kelly up_ thing. He presses back against Kelly again, rolling his hips just the slightest. Thinking about it.

Bottoming, for Nick, was an experience that was entirely the opposite of safe. But Kelly? Kelly’s easy. Kelly’s always cared for him, relaxed him. Kelly’s home. Nick is increasingly aware of the sensation of Kelly’s skin against his as he wriggles minutely in Kelly’s arms. Kelly’s arms are about the safest place Nick can think of. If Kelly ever wanted to, ever asked him to, Nick… could see himself being okay with the idea.

Nick’s fucking turned on by the idea, actually.

No way through this one but out, he thinks, and he takes himself in hand, slowly stroking, wondering if he can just get off quietly and get back to sleep without disturbing the Doc. He closes his eyes and is acutely aware of Kelly’s dick, snug against his ass cheeks. Nick thinks about Kelly’s gentle, sure hands, opening him up, easy, soothing, running a palm up his spine, reassuring. He thinks about the blunt pressure of one finger, then two, then three, of the way he’s sure Kelly would moan at the sight. Nick moans softly, trying to stay quiet.

He runs his thumb over the tip of his dick, not shocked to find pre-come there, and he thinks about the way Kelly’s would feel mixed with lube between his cheeks. His hand travels to the base of his dick, and he presses at the sensitive skin below his balls, and he thinks about the way Kelly’s fingers would feel, pressing at that spot inside of him.

Kelly must be sleeping really fucking deeply, because Nick groans softly and Kelly doesn’t stir. Nick jacks himself more enthusiastically, thinking the entire time of Kelly slowly pushing into him, adjusting to the burn, finally burying himself deep inside Nick. Kelly’s name rolls in an involuntary whisper off of Nick’s lips as he thinks of giving himself to Kelly like that, of laying himself open for the man he loves.

Kelly doesn’t stir. Nick’s hips are moving in the smallest thrusting motion against Kelly’s dick, and Kelly grunts again but doesn’t seem like he’s waking up.

Nick is going to come and he tilts his head back just enough, shivering, and bites his lip, and thinks of Kelly _finishing inside of him_ , and is done for. His toes are curling and the muscles in the arches of his feet are spasming along with the muscles of his core and orgasm is washing over him and he’s making a mess against his hand and breathing heavily and feeling a light sheen of sweat in his hair and all he can think is: Goddamn, Kelly, inside.

Fucking turned on by the idea.

Kelly never wakes up, somehow, and Nick lets out a shaky sigh and awkwardly tries to wipe off using the sheet and decides, fuck it, and goes back to sleep.

\------

 **The second time** they have the conversation, Kelly thinks that Nick’s joking.

Three hours later, Nick wakes to the sound of rain falling more intensely than it had been, and to Kelly kissing at the shell of his ear. “Did you have fun with yourself earlier, Nicko?”

Nick’s still too out of it. “Doc?” he asks, groggy.

“The sheet’s all… damp.” Nick can feel Kelly’s slow grin against the skin of his neck. “You got off without me.” He fakes a pouting tone of voice.

“Mmm,” Nick hums in agreement. He flips over in his lover’s arms, his nose suddenly touching Kelly’s. “Sorry, babe,” Nick says, his voice low and gravelly with sleep still. “Didn’t wanna wake you up at 5 a.m. for no reason.”

Kelly raises a suspicious eyebrow. “You could have, you know. That’s a pretty good reason in my book.”

“I know,” Nick teases, “but you need your beauty rest.” He kisses Kelly on the tip of his nose, and groans when Kelly quickly leans in and captures his mouth in a much more heated kiss. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes after pulling away from the kiss, admiring the flecked blueish-grey color that Kelly’s eyes are reflecting in the weak morning light. “Want you to stay that way.”

“What did you think about, Irish?” Kelly asks, ghosting his lips up Nick’s cheekbone. “What dirty thought got you all hot and bothered enough to do something about it at the asscrack of dawn?”

Nick quirks a smile at that. Asscrack. “Just you, Kels.”

“What about me?” Kelly is stroking Nick’s side with a heavy hand and hooks a leg over Nick’s hips, making Nick very aware of his lover’s morning erection, the same one he jacked off to a few hours ago. For the second time that morning, Nick’s suddenly highly aroused.

“Everything,” he answers, surprising himself with his honesty, kissing Kelly again as he snakes a hand between them. Nick strokes both of their cocks together and gasps when Kelly’s hand joins his, making a tight ring of laced fingers into which they both thrust, both of them leaking pre-come. Perfect.

“Tell me all of your dirty, dirty thoughts, babe,” Kelly whispers as he assaults the side of Nick’s neck, nipping with playful teeth, not quite hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that the skin there flushes.

Nick groans. He wants Kelly on top of him, wants the thought of feeling safe under his weight, open in his hands. “Come here,” he says, and he pulls on Kelly’s hips until he gets the idea, rolling over to straddle Nick. Kelly keeps the rhythm they’d had as they rutted into their clasped hands, and he keeps rutting his dick against Nick’s.

Nick surprises Kelly when he bends his knees and hooks his ankles around the small of Kelly’s back, pulling Kelly closer. “You want me to ride you?” Kelly asks, grinning wolfishly, but Nick shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m gonna come faster than that,” Nick says. He moans wantonly, thinking of how easy it would be for Kelly to slick up his dick and slide it in, from this position. “Fuck me, Kels.”

Kelly groans and leans in to Nick’s body, grasping at Nick’s hips, rutting harder. “Fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Nick sighs. Kelly grabs Nick’s hip hard with one hand and reaches down with the other, wrapping his fingers around both their dicks again.

“What do you mean, fuck you?” Kelly asks again. “Oh my God, that’s what you were thinking about, isn’t it? You want me… on top?”

Nick can feel his second orgasm of the morning approaching too quickly, and he roughly grabs at the back of Kelly’s neck, twisting his fingers in Kelly’s hair and pulling him down for a harsh kiss, their bodies moving perfectly aligned, touching from mouth to chest to groin. Perfect.

“Shh,” Nick groans, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open under Kelly’s, his chin tilted, his neck exposed and vulnerable, his stomach coiling, his awareness focused in to Kelly’s weight over him, to the sound of rain hitting the boat. “Shh, I’m almost, I’m gonna… Kels,” he says, and he comes, trembling in Kelly’s arms.

Kelly moans loudly, continuing to jack their erections even as Nick’s come spills over his fingers. “Babe,” he says, his own orgasm shooting through him, and he doesn’t stop moving his hips until it’s too much to handle. With a rough sigh, he flops down on his back next to Nick.

“Fuck you?” Kelly asks at length, his eyes dancing.

“Forget it,” Nick says, groaning as he gets out of bed.


	2. May

**The third time** they have the conversation, Nick doesn’t want to have it -- at least, not at first.

In the several months since Scotland and Nick’s surgery, Nick and Kelly have been trying to see each other for a few days every three or four weeks. It’s been a week and a half since Kelly last left Boston, and Nick is already unhappy about it.

He’d fired off a series of rapid, curt texts earlier in the evening to Kelly, canceling their normal nightly Skype while Kelly cooked dinner and Nick relaxed on the couch. He needed to go out for a drink, he’d said. He’d text him when he got home from the bar, he’d said. Yes, he was going with Hagan. Yes, he was fine. Yes, it was about work. No, he didn’t want to talk about it.

The thing was this: That they had dealt with a nasty domestic early that evening, close to the end of Nick’s shift.

That Nick had knelt in front of the ratty couch that the 21-year-old wife sat on; that she had cried as the paramedic popped her shoulder back into place while Hagan distracted the unusually docile 3-year-old kid in the other room; that Nick had offered her his hand for the pain of her shoulder or maybe of her heart; that she had gripped Nick’s hand and confessed that she had stabbed her husband after he’d knocked her around, that he had been drunk and she had been scared, that it had been happening for years, but she had immediately apologized to Nick, immediately shifted the blame from her husband to herself; that there had been blood all over the kitchen; that no one had been sure at first if it was a murder scene or not; that she had trembled and hidden her rapidly blackening eyes against Nick’s shoulder; that he had told her in his calmest voice the relevant details about his dad and his childhood; that he had begged her: Do what my mom couldn’t. Leave. Leave. Please, God, leave. For the sake of your little boy.

Some uniforms had arrested the wife, or, at least, taken her into temporary custody; social services had taken the boy; and she had clung to Nick, crying soundlessly, until the last possible moment.

Nick had wanted to throw up.

He had stuffed his hands into his pockets so Hagan wouldn’t see them shaking. He had needed a drink. Hagan had agreed. They had gone, and it hadn’t really helped much, though it ought to’ve, and they hadn’t even stayed out too late -- midnight.

Now: Nick walks back onto the _Fiddler_ , thinking he probably shouldn’t have fucking driven, but he had two waters before leaving the bar, and, what the hell. He can’t stop thinking about the woman’s haunted eyes, about the little boy in the other room. About children’s corpses along the side of the road in the desert. About a motherfucking hole in the ground in ’02. About the basement of his childhood home. About Liam Bell. About Kelly bleeding out in his arms. What the hell. What’s a little buzzed driving compared to all the rest of the shit.

 _i’m home_ , he texts Kelly.

 _everything ok?_ comes the immediate reply.

_need a shower before i can answer that_

Nick strips out of his clothes and stands under the water spray with his forehead pressed to the cool tile of the shower wall until the hot water starts to run out, which doesn’t take very long on a houseboat. Fifteen minutes, tops. He washes his face and hair quickly under lukewarm water and shuts it off just as it starts to go frigid cold.

He doesn’t fucking bother putting on clothes, wandering the boat with a towel wrapped around his hips, double-checking the locks and the lights and the hatches, putting the boat to bed: Pilothouse, galley, salon, below-decks. The ritual, the litany, puts his mind a little more at ease. He feels bad for brushing Kelly off. He fills the plastic Red Sox cup with fresh drinking water and brings it to his room, leaving it on his dresser. He double-checks his service weapon and stores it in its proper place for the night. He plugs his phone into the charger and gets into bed, rolling to his side to grab his phone.

He sighs, and guiltily texts Kelly: _sorry, doc. bad case. if im not on your shitlist i’d like to talk. if you want._

He doesn’t expect Kelly to call, but the phone starts dancing and singing not 30 seconds later with an incoming Skype request.

“Hi!” Kelly says brightly when Nick answers. He’s sitting on his couch, and familiar music is playing behind the sounds of an epic battle.

Nick had had himself all wound up to immediately apologize, but instead he smiles. “Are you… watching The Lord of the Rings… again?”

“Duh.” Kelly smiles, then tilts his head to the side. “Do you wanna talk about it, or do you just want me to stay with you?” Sometimes they do this, sit on Skype together as Nick settles into bed, wordlessly, listening to whatever Kelly’s watching or listening to, two hours behind, both of them feeling less alone.

“I wanna talk about it,” Nick says instead, wishing in vain for Kelly’s hands on him, and Kelly pauses the movie. “I’m sorry,” Nick sighs when Kelly turns his attention back to the screen.

“Don’t,” Kelly says. “Just tell me.”

He does, not just today’s case but still gradually showing Kelly pieces of the hell he was sent into on the last deployment, still weighing heavy on his mind even after five months, despite the fact that he’s been seeing a professional recently. It’s both upsetting and therapeutic to get it out of him; and when he’s done telling, neither of them speak for a long while.

Nick has almost fallen asleep when Kelly says, out of the blue, with a far-away expression, “I love you.”

A slow smile crosses Nick’s face. “I love you, too, Kels.”

Kelly sighs wistfully. “I wish I could be there with you tonight. Sounds like you could use some company.”

“I know.” Nick thinks about Kelly twining their limbs together, running soothing fingers over his scalp; about Kelly’s lips whispering at his pulse points, sucking at his tongue. “Me too. I wish you could be here, too. Every night.”

“Hey, Irish?” Kelly asks after several moments, and his tone is a little too light for the late hour and the heavy conversation.

“What, Doc.”

“We could always…” Kelly waggles one eyebrow exaggeratedly. “You know.”

“I don’t know, bud,” Nick says. “I’m kinda… drained.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I were there.”

Kelly’s tone isn’t accusatory at all, but Nick still feels a little dart of guilt. “Yeah, I know.” Nick closes his eyes, trying to block out all thoughts that aren’t about his lover’s body. “God, if you were here…”

“Tell me,” Kelly says, and his voice has taken on the thrilled, breathless quality that it does when he’s turned on.

“Kels?” Nick asks, opening his eyes. Kelly has changed the angle of his laptop screen a little, slouching down farther into his couch in Colorado, probably ready to touch himself, if he hasn’t started already. “Oh my God,” Nick laughs. “Is that what you want? Seriously?”

“Tell me,” Kelly says, damn near purring. “What would you do if I were there with you?”

Nick sighs. “I’d touch you all over, babe.”

“Tell me, baby,” Kelly says a third time.

Nick sighs again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m just not…” He makes a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” Kelly muses. They’re both silent for a few moments, then Kelly says, “Nicko.”

Nick glances at the screen, virtually meeting Kelly’s clear, blue eyes across 2,000 miles, across two time zones, across all of the shit in his head.

“Can we try something?” Kelly asks.

“What?” Nick says warily.

Kelly bites his lip. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Nick feels his heartbeat quicken. What does he—

“Would you touch yourself for me?” Kelly asks softly.

“What, do you want a show?”

Kelly bites his lip again. “Not exactly. I – I love you, Nick.”

“And I love you,” Nick murmurs. “So much.”

“I know. Sometimes I think you’re kinder to me than you are to yourself,” Kelly says in that same quiet, still voice, and Nick doesn’t know how to respond, so Kelly plows ahead with his thought. “Even -- even when it’s rough, it’s never just sex, you know? It’s never been just sex, it’s -- you _make love_ to me, you know? In the way you touch me.”

“Kels,” Nick breathes.

Kelly’s small smile is ethereal. Is absolution for the things he doesn’t even know Nick has done. Is too good for Nick. Is the last thing Nick wants to see before he dies. Is not anything Nick could ever deny. “Would you touch yourself for me, as if it were me?”

Nick swallows heavily, and rasps, “I’d do anything for you, babe.”

Kelly’s smile broadens easily, his whole body relaxing into contentment. “If I were there, you’d so totally have your hands all over me already. Tracing my tattoos. Especially the six-shooter.” When Nick doesn’t budge, Kelly waves one hand in a ‘hurry up’ motion, his smile touching the corners of his eyes. “Go on. Close your eyes if it helps. I’m right here with with you.”

Nick lies the phone on its side, propping it up on his headboard so he can still see Kelly. He runs a hesitant hand down his bare chest, drawing the pattern of Kelly’s tattoos on his own skin. He could probably chase the lines of that damn six-shooter in his sleep, he loves it so much. Hell, he probably has.

Kelly’s voice takes on an almost hypnotic quality. When Nick glances up at the screen, Kelly is skimming his own fingers over his own torso, too, his hand up his shirt, the butt of the six-shooter just showing.

“You’d do that thing I love where you hold me down and kiss me with your hand around my throat,” Kelly says, and Nick thinks about it, ghosting his fingers over the thumping pulse point in his own neck, thinking of the compact edges of Kelly’s jaw that he knows so well. He closes his eyes and lets himself go to his own imagination, losing himself in his own touch, moaning softly in the back of his throat, running fingertips over the line of his own jaw, the curve of his ear, through his still-damp hair, feeling his skin prickle under his hand, imagining Kelly’s lips there, before drifting his touch back down to his chest, tracing a nipple.

“Yeah, babe,” Kelly encourages. “And at this point I’m so bothered that some of this has to go…” Nick looks back at the screen to see Kelly wriggling out of his shirt, hears the distinctive sound of his belt buckle just out of view.

“What I wouldn’t give,” Nick says, letting go for the moment of everything but lust, “to feel you so hard for me.” He palms at his quickly-growing erection.

“I know,” Kelly answers breathlessly, and he adjusts the angle of his screen such that Nick can see him slide his hand into his boxers. “You’d be touching me, running your fingers over me. Over yourself. Getting ready.”

They’re both stroking themselves, and Nick’s breathing harder, imagining Kelly waiting and hard and curled into him, rutting against him. Laughing. Playfully kissing. Smiling.

“I’d be so ready for you, Nicko, and -- and you’d get the lube and put one finger there…” Nick hears a faint pop and realizes Kelly has gotten up, lost his pants and underwear, gone for the bottle stashed in a drawer of the coffee table, and is slouched down on the couch, slicking his fingers, getting to ready to fuck his own hand.

“Oh, fuck, that’s hot,” Nick breathes, still jacking himself.

“It’s you, babe,” Kelly moans. “I’m so ready for you.” The noise Kelly makes when he slides a finger into himself is too much and before Nick fully realizes what he’s doing, he dives for the lube in his bedside table, pouring some over his own fingers, closing his eyes and seeking out his own tight ring, tracing it with an insistent index finger, wanting it to be Kelly’s. He’s touched himself like this before, in exploration, but never in tandem with a lover like this, and he groans at the sensation.

“Oh my God,” Kelly says. “Oh, God, are you doing it to yourself?”

Nick nods and bites his lip as he presses against the muscles in his hole before relaxing, starting to jack himself again with his other hand. “Whose name do you say, Kels?”

“Nick, fuck,” Kelly moans, and it’s enough.

“Two fingers, baby,” Nick says, and he gasps at the sensation as he slowly adds a second, working his fingers in and out in the rhythm he knows makes Kelly fucking crazy. Kelly whimpers as he does the same to himself.

“Fuck, you’re so dirty, babe,” Kelly moans. “You want me like this? Fuck, you want me to touch you like this?”

“Yeah,” Nick sighs. “Want you to fuck me.”

“God damn, Irish,” Kelly says, licking his lips. “Say that again.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Nick rasps, the weight of his words, of a thought he never meant to voice, sending chills down his spine.

“Hell, yeah. Shit, I’m gonna get off to that for days.” Kelly closes his eyes, his fingers seeking better purchase on his body. “Fuck, I want you inside me. Me inside you. You inside me. Fuck, I don’t care, Nicko, I want you.”

“I am,” Nick answers, rolling his hips, riding the twin sensations of pleasure and discomfort until the discomfort fades away into the pleasure. “I am. I want you ready for me, Kels. One more.”

Kelly hisses as he adds the third. “Yes, babe, fuck yes.” On screen, Kelly’s eyes are glazed in pleasure, his lower jaw slack and open, his head tilted back into the couch, his dick hard in his fist. “You too?”

“Yeah.” Nick bites his lip hard, taking a deep breath, shuddering as he explores pressing his ring finger in next to his index and middle.

“Oh, babe,” Kelly says. “I wish I were with you. I wish I were filming this. You never take it like –“

Nick groans wordlessly, sinking lower onto his own hand, pulling hard and rough on his own dick.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come so hard,” Kelly says. “Take it, Nick, take it, oh my God.”               

“So tight,” Nick rasps, loving the way Kelly’s face looks, wishing to God he weren’t thousands of miles away from him right now. “Need you, Kels. Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Kelly cries out and Nick knows it’s because he’s brushed his fingers over his sensitive glands; Nick knows exactly where to touch Kelly to make him make that noise, and a sudden wave of frustration washes over him.

“Touch yourself there,” Kelly begs, and, still rolling his hips, jacking with the other hand, Nick seeks out his own prostate, shouting out and shuddering when he finds it. “You’re doing this to me,” Kelly whimpers desperately. “Driving me crazy.”

Nick feels the telltale signs of the muscles in the arches of his feet tightening, his hands moving faster. “Gonna come soon,” he says, not sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” Kelly replies breathlessly.

“I want you to come first,” Nick says, the haze of his impending orgasm clouding his mind. “Wanna see you come all over yourself. Fuck, babe.”

“I wish this were you,” Kelly groans, his hands quickening over his body. “Look at me,” he says, and Nick watches raptly as the muscles of Kelly’s core all go taut. “I love you,” he says, and his eyelids flutter closed, and his body shakes as he comes.

Nick sees Kelly’s come shoot up onto his belly, and groans. “Fuck, fuck,” Nick gasps, and he feels his own body tightening and trembling and he groans Kelly’s name as the sensations overtake him, seeing white, hearing, distantly, Kelly encouraging him, -- “That’s right, babe, that’s right,” -- feeling the hot stickiness over his hand and his stomach. Nick touches himself until he can’t, and groans with the loss of pressure as he slides his fingers from himself.

When he comes to, Kelly is grinning broadly on the screen, leaning his head heavily against the back of the couch, panting.

Nick smiles.

“Holy shit,” Kelly says. “That was so fucking hot.” He laughs, and it’s a laugh that Nick wants to kiss and absorb into himself, clear and happy. “You’ve never done that for me,” Kelly’s continuing. “That was so dirty, Nicko. I liked it. Fuck, I wanna do that in person.”

Nick sighs, humming contentedly in agreement. “Mmm, you helped a lot.”

“Go clean up, you dirty Marine,” Kelly says with a laugh, and Nick hauls himself out of bed, leaving the phone on his pillow, staggering to the bathroom, washing his hands, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it and cleaning himself off.

By the time he gets back to his room, Kelly’s image is coming in over the screen much darker. He has obviously moved upstairs to the loft, his face illuminated only by the nightlight, the one Nick put there months ago.

Kelly has his quilt pulled to his chin and a pillow in his arms and a soft smile on his face. “Love you,” he whispers.

Nick snuggles in to his own blankets. “I miss you,” he says. “So fucking much.”

“I know,” Kelly agrees, a touch of melancholy entering his tone. “I wish I were there with you. Holdin’ you.”

“Soon,” Nick says. Soon meaning two weeks. In two weeks Kelly will be in Boston again, for two weeks this time. He sighs -- he should be happier. Two weeks is a treat. But he’s not sure if he can take vacation days for more than a long weekend. And only seeing Kelly once a month is getting hard. He wants Kelly at his side every day, someone to come home to. When Kelly is with him, his boat -- his life -- doesn’t feel so filled by memory, by blood, by violence, by guilt, by the shit Nick can’t control, by the shit Nick is tired of seeing, by the shit Nick hates himself for.

“I love you, Doc,” Nick says, letting the emotions of the day saturate his words.

“You too,” Kelly answers, both of them drifting off to sleep, neither of them hanging up.


	3. August

**At this point** , the conversation has gotten off-topic.

Nick rushes impatiently through the concourse; he got delayed in Chicago and his legendary patience is fraying to its end. His side still aches a little from the bullet graze five weeks ago and from being seated on the plane on the runway for so long. He can’t stand to wait one more second to see Kelly.

And there he is, standing in the arrivals area, wearing that same god-awful pair of beat-up Chaco sandals that’ve been giving him weird tan lines every Colorado summer for a decade, and that soft, easy smile he always wears for Nick.

Kelly grins wider as Nick approaches, and he moves as though to kiss him, but Nick’s heart is pounding and he grabs Kelly tight, wrapping one hand around his shoulders and the other around the back of his head, gripping his hair, pulling him into his shoulder. Nick breathes Kelly’s name shakily in relief.

“Hey,” Kelly says. “Hey, Irish, what’s all this?”

Nick tips his head down, pressing his lips to Kelly’s forehead, holding him close there, inhaling Kelly’s scent with his nose against his temple, trying to find his balance.

“Missed you too much,” Nick breathes, his lips moving against Kelly’s summer-dark skin. Nick wrestles for his self-control and finds it, sighing, pulling away only to capture Kelly’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and pull him in for a searing, possessive kiss. “Scared you really didn’t want me to fly out.”

“You here is all I want,” Kelly says, gasping from the kiss, resting his forehead against Nick’s. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, taking Nick’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

Nick smiles at that, but he’s having a hard time being present in the moment. Worry and guilt beat through his bloodstream.

The car ride is quiet, almost uncharacteristically so. But then, things have been a little off, ever since Kelly’s last visit to Boston five weeks ago. Nick had tendered his resignation paperwork and Kelly had spent hours in communications with Emma Grady, had hooked Alex Kincade up with Emma, had been all ready to buy plane tickets to Brazil -– but the department had declined to accept Nick’s resignation, and Kelly had put his foot down about going anywhere adventuring without Nick, and so nothing had changed.

In fact, even just last night, they’d argued about it. Nick had simply called to say that he’d been able to finally wrangle flex hours as a step toward his eventual resignation, and so would be able to stay for six days instead of five. Somehow the conversation had taken a turn toward discussing work, from which Nick was late coming home again.

“They want me to stay on until all my ongoing investigations are resolved, babe,” Nick had said with an almost audible shrug of his shoulders.

“Some of your ongoing investigations don’t even have court dates until next spring!” Kelly had snapped. “And you’re still taking new cases. It’s not like the old ones are all you’re doing. What the fuck are you supposed to do, Irish? Just say yes even though it’s not what you want and it’s not what’s healthy for you? Just say yes until one day you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly you’re dead?”

“Kelly,” Nick had tried, but Kelly had had none of it.

“Fuck!” Kelly had exclaimed, uncharacteristically exasperated. “You gave Ty so much shit about blindly following orders. You’re just as bad as he is.”

 _If only you knew the half of it_ , Nick had almost said. The words were there, but he held his tongue, biting his lip, eventually whispering, “I’m sorry, babe. Do you… do you still want to see me? Do you want me to cancel my flight?”

“Fuck no,” Kelly had said, his tone no softer despite Nick’s apologetic one. “For the love of God, Nicko. Don’t cancel your goddamn flight,” and he had hung up.

Nick had laid awake all night, thinking about how he and Kelly had never really fought before.

And so the car ride back to Kelly’s cabin is quiet. Kelly drives with one hand on Nick’s thigh across the middle console, and Nick laces his fingers through Kelly’s, running his thumb over the back of Kelly’s hand. At a red light, Nick pulls at Kelly’s hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, thinking guiltily about all of the reasons they ought to be anywhere other than here right now. _We can settle down we’re dead, babe._

Kelly glances over and smiles, though Nick thinks he catches some kind of questioning sadness, some kind of curious melancholy, in Kelly’s eyes, which today are the murky steel blue of the sea before a storm. Neither of them speak.

The minute Kelly pulls into the driveway, though, Nick turns on him, unclicking his seatbelt, pinning him to the driver’s seat, one hand at his shoulder, the other under his jaw, kissing him within half an inch of his life.

Kelly groans, opening his mouth to Nick, teeth clicking, tongues sweeping over one another. “Inside,” Kelly manages, trying to shove Nick off of him. Nick pulls a fake pouting face. “Inside,” Kelly says again. “I am immune to your puppy eyes. I’m not doing this in the car. This old Jeep isn’t nearly as comfy as your brand new SUV, Lucky. And there’s not even the thrill of anyone catching us out here.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “You _liked_ doing it in the Range Rover. You helped me _pick out_ the Range Rover.”

“You’re as bad as some 19-year-old kid,” Kelly says, shaking his head. “Oh, look, all this money from being deployed against my will in a fucking dangerous place and living on the Corps’ dime for six months, probably ought to buy a brand new fucking luxury car with it. Heated seats? All the better to fuck you in, my pretty.”

“Doc,” Nick says, cracking a smile, moving back in, but Kelly slips out from under him, lunging out of the driver’s side door.

“They turned you back into a fucking jarhead when you went over there this last time,” Kelly says, and there’s just enough bite under his words that Nick can tell he’s still kinda pissed. (In Kelly’s defense, Nick did promise to quit, and he’s not following through. Hell, Nick's kind of pissed, too.) “Doing whatever you’re told, and, barring that, whatever everyone else is doing. I guess I should be glad you didn’t end up with a Camaro or something.”

“Kels, come on. What’s bothering you? It’s been, like, eight months since we got back.”

Kelly is ahead of him, though, standing on the porch and unlocking the front door. He shoots a glare back at Nick as Nick gets his bag out of the backseat, though under the heat of the glare Nick thinks he spots a different kind of heat.

“Yeah, and it’s still hurting you,” Kelly snaps, stepping inside.

“Can we just stop talking?” Nick tries, heading into the house, dropping his bag in the living room.

Kelly pounces, slamming the door closed with one hand and Nick against the wall with the other, kissing him hard. Nick surrenders, closing his eyes against the assault. Kelly’s stubble, clearly not shaven this morning, rasps at Nick’s jaw as Kelly nips from mouth to ear and back again. “Fuck, yes,” Nick groans, palming at Kelly’s ass. Kelly’s got nimble fingers under the hem of Nick’s t-shirt, scrabbling over hard planes of skin and muscle, skipping over scars, instinctively more careful around the newer ones.

“I don’t want you to be there anymore,” Kelly says a little petulantly, kissing Nick again, more insistently, stepping out of his sandals and kicking them across the living room. “I don’t want you anywhere I can’t be, too.” Nick is toeing out of his running shoes and Kelly pulls away to divest Nick of his t-shirt, stripping off his own as well, before resuming the kiss, grabbing at Nick’s curls, chasing the constellations of ruddy sun freckles that dot his face and shoulders, biting down at Nick’s clavicle. “I fucking hate being apart,” Kelly admits, his voice dropping to a whisper, tempering the statement with a lively sharp nip at Nick’s bottom lip.

“I’m trying, baby,” Nick says, his hands stroking at the smooth skin of Kelly’s hips, unconsciously tracing the six-shooter jutting out just above the waistband of his shorts. “Can we just -– not -– right now?”

“Come on, you wanna try fucking angry for once?” Kelly teases, his eyes suddenly sparkling the way they do when he’s up to no good, when he’s chasing an adrenaline rush; and he cracks a grin, and winks, and Nick growls in the back of his throat.

“You want it angry?” Nick says, smiling threateningly, and with little effort he pushes Kelly off of him just enough to flip him and pin him against the wall, reversing their positions. Nick’s left hand is at Kelly’s throat, and his right is around both of Kelly’s wrists, holding them together loosely against the wall above their heads, and he grinds his groin against Kelly’s, both of them moaning at the contact, both of their dicks apparently _very_ interested in angry. “You want it rough?”

Kelly plays along, bucking theatrically against Nick’s hands, ignoring the fact that he could very easily break the hold if he wanted to, tipping his chin up defiantly. “I want a fight, Irish,” he says, shooting for menacing but coming out breathless and needy, smiling despite his hard words.

Nick chuckles, dipping his head to kiss Kelly long and slow and tantalizing, his hands tightening against Kelly’s skin, pulling him up onto his toes, not quite off the floor; his lips behaving the opposite of his hands, brushing along Kelly’s gently, forcing Kelly to surge up against Nick’s hands again, stretching taller, chasing a deeper kiss, leaving him groaning in frustration.

“Ask nicely,” Nick teases with a small smile, tightening his grip on Kelly’s wrists and throat just a little more. “Tell me.”

Kelly fights back harder, now almost truly breathless under Nick’s grip, and Nick is so close that every move from Kelly brushes their erections together through their clothes. Kelly moans loudly and cants his hips at Nick. “Tell you what?” he asks. He pulls one foot off the floor, wrapping his leg around Nick’s hips, forcing Nick to hold him even more tightly, to lean in even heavier, to keep Kelly from falling.

“Tell me how you want it,” Nick says, glancing up at Kelly, biting hard at Kelly’s neck where his pulse is jumping under Nick’s fingers, then running a gentle tongue over the same spot. Biting, licking.

“Fuck you, O’Flaherty,” Kelly gasps, trembling, suspended against the wall by Nick’s strength, still trying to get a rise out of Nick, who patiently bites, licks, the spot above Kelly’s collarbone turning an angry shade of reddish-purple already.  _Perfect_ , Nick thinks.  _Mine_ . “Fuck you,” Kelly says, struggling for air after each word, “and fuck your commander, and fuck your ongoing investigations, and fuck all of Boston’s Finest. Fuck all of Boston.” He locks eyes with Nick, grinning evilly, his voice dropping to a lower register. “Fuck the Red Sox,” he whispers.

“Oh, no, son, now you’ve crossed a line,” Nick replies, and he kisses him, and lets him go, hot and desperate and rough in a rush of air.

Moving in familiar tandem, they continue undressing, stepping out of and kicking their shorts away. But the longer Nick kisses Kelly, the harder it is for him to remember that he’s supposed to be mad, their kisses riding the spectrum between rough and soft, their touches less and less teasing and more and more loving. Nick rocks his hips against Kelly’s, and he moans. “Babe,” Nick says, having now almost entirely forgotten to hold onto the pretense of being angry, too wrapped up in _Kelly_ , and Kelly hums in agreement.

Nick kisses Kelly again, tangling his fingers through Kelly’s hair. “I’m serious, Doc,” he says in an unexpectedly grave whisper, leaning in closer, his forehead brushing Kelly’s. “Been missing you too much.”

“I know,” Kelly answers, sliding both hands over Nick’s cheeks, framing his face, tenderly caressing. “Me too.”

“Need you,” Nick says, still pressing his hips against Kelly’s, the heat in his stomach pooling to an almost unbearable feeling.

"You got me, babe," Kelly answers. Both of them finally lose their boxers and Kelly groans loudly at the skin-on-skin contact, rocking into Nick. “Upstairs?” he asks, breathless and smiling, his eyes sparkling like aquamarines, and Nick shakes his head.

“Not gonna make it that far,” he says.

“Coffee table drawer,” Kelly says, and Nick bites his lip, reluctantly leaving Kelly just long enough to cross the living room in two long strides, opening the drawer and rummaging through until he finds the bottle of lube he knows is stashed there, which, despite that knowledge, amuses him every time.

Nick smirks. “You’re dirty, Kels.”

Kelly shrugs, beaming that soft smile at Nick across the room. “For emergency use only.”

“I think this qualifies,” Nick says, his skin screaming for more of Kelly. He crosses the room again and resumes kissing and caressing with increased urgency, tasting salt at the hollow of Kelly’s collarbone. “How do you want it?” he asks, rolling his hips again, rutting and pressing into Kelly's lithe body.

Kelly twists in his grasp and presses his chest and palms against the wall, his ass canted dangerously toward Nick. He turns his head to speak but Nick cuts him off, pressing against his back, stealing a kiss. “Do you remember the first time?” Kelly asks when Nick finally gives him a chance.

“Fuck, yeah,” Nick says. “I’m not gonna go so slow right now, though.”

“Good,” Kelly whispers, and he kisses Nick again, intentionally pressing back against Nick’s erection. “Do your worst.”

Nick is already slicking himself up, and he moves his slick fingers against the cleft of Kelly’s ass, but Kelly says, “Don’t bother.”

“You sure?” Nick asks, kissing along the back of Kelly’s neck, the place where the neck and spine meet.

“Yeah,” Kelly breathes. “Come on, Irish. Need you.”

Nick grips at Kelly’s hip hard enough to bruise and slides home in one hard thrust, arching his back, bracing his forehead against Kelly’s shoulder, his body reverberating with Kelly’s moan of dual discomfort and pleasure.

“Fuck,” he hisses, burying himself inside Kelly, reveling in the sensation. “You’re so tight.”

“Fuck me,” Kelly pleads, and Nick groans in response, beginning to move, finding a rhythm that works. His knees ache a little from the way he’s bending to accommodate Kelly’s shorter height, but right now, he doesn’t fucking care. All he knows, all he cares about, is Kelly, the noises Kelly’s making, the responsiveness of Kelly’s muscles under him, around him.

Nick feels his release approaching a little more rapidly than he’d like, and he says, “Shit, Kels, I’m gonna have to slow down or else—“

“Don’t,” Kelly begs, turning his head for another kiss, gazing up at Nick. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Nick picks up the pace, letting it roll through him as he fucks Kelly harder, snapping his hips, Kelly’s head turned to kiss over his shoulder, their tongues almost lazily brushing over one another’s lips despite the fervent pace of their hips. “Babe,” Nick gasps, his core and leg muscles tightening and trembling, and his lips stay barely touching Kelly’s as he comes, whimpering into Kelly’s mouth.

His legs shaking and his vision half-fogged over, Nick grabs Kelly roughly by the arm and turns him, pressing his back against the wall again; he sinks to his knees, nipping and licking playfully at Kelly’s skin on the way down: at his nipples, at the dream catcher on his ticklish ribs, at the six-shooter.

“Babe,” Kelly says, half-laughing, half-groaning, squirming under Nick’s caresses. “Your knee.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Nick says fiercely, suddenly grabbing Kelly’s ass so hard that he knows there will be indents from his fingernails there later, enveloping Kelly’s throbbing dick in the heat of his mouth. With one hand he seeks out Kelly’s sensitive hole, delighting at the feel of his own come lingering slick over the curve of Kelly’s ass, sliding two fingers easily in, seeking Kelly’s sensitive spot.

“Fuck,” Kelly exclaims, twisting his fingers roughly in Nick’s curls, pulling his mouth closer as his fingers hit Kelly’s over-sensitive prostate. Kelly rocks his hips into Nick’s mouth, trembling and wordlessly moaning as he begins to come. Nick swallows and keeps licking and sucking until Kelly pushes him away, panting, “Enough.”

Kelly’s knees give out, and he slides down the wall, and Nick sits back, throwing an arm around his shoulders, tucking Kelly’s body into his own. They sit with their backs against the wall, their knees pulled up to their chests, sweating and breathing heavily, coming down.

At length, Nick stretches his legs out and turns his head to look at Kelly. “Take back what you said about the Red Sox,” he says, poking his index finger into Kelly’s chest, a small smile curling the ends of his mouth.

Kelly grins, the grin that Nick not-so-secretly finds irresistible, the one that looks like a cat that got into the cream. “Nope.”

“I swear to God, Doc,” Nick mutters under his breath, his eyes glinting with mischief, tackling Kelly to the floor as he laughs that pure, clear laugh.

\------

 **As all good** conversations do, it meanders until it finds itself somehow back on track.

That day, after the urgent, sweaty wall sex, they themselves had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening meandering: Another, lazier round that had actually made it to the bedroom this time after the initial scuffle over the Sox on the living room floor; shower, steaks and fresh corn on the grill; lazing on the porch swing, soaking up the sunset, watching the half moon rise.

They had agreed, unspoken, to cut it out with the disagreements. “I’m sorry about what I said about your car,” Kelly had said in the shower.

“It’s okay,” Nick had said.

“And about what I said last night,” he’d said.

“It’s okay,” Nick had said, pulling Kelly closer, resting his forehead against Kelly’s, feeling the warm water beat against his skin, letting his thoughts drift. He had almost said more, had almost tried to interrogate the fight, the broken promise, the dart of guilt –- but it had felt too wrong for Nick to think of bringing up the serious shit, the disagreements, when he was actually with Kelly, when their bodies were so satisfied by one another, pressed together so close. He’d wanted to save what time they had together to simply be together.

“And I’m sorry about what I said about the Red Sox,” Kelly had added, pulling back enough to look Nick in the eye, bringing Nick back to the moment.

“Now, that,” Nick had said, smiling, “that’s a little more unforgivable. But just this once, I’ll try.” He’d winked, his green eyes flashing joyfully at Kelly, water beading on his eyelashes as he’d kissed Kelly’s wet, clean face all over.

And that had been that.

The evening had passed, sanguine. They had gone to bed early, sated.

All is well –-

Until Kelly wakes up to Nick calling for him in the middle of the night.

“Corpsman up!” Nick’s yelling. “Man down, man down! Doc!”

Kelly sits up against the headboard, wincing, glancing at the clock. It’s not even midnight yet. He frowns. Nick often sleeps restlessly, but his true night terrors have been better recently, less frequent. This is the first time Kelly’s actually seen one in person in a while, though he knows they happen on lonely nights when Nick’s 2,000 miles away and all Kelly can do is try to talk him through the panic on the phone.

"Doc!" Nick calls again. Nick is whimpering, sweat beading on his forehead, one tear rolling down his face, and Kelly has had enough, deciding to wake him instead of letting him go all the way through it.

Usually Kelly just goes to the other room, just lets Nick get himself through it –- but tonight, he thinks, he can’t bear to sit here and listen to Nick’s turmoil, even if it does mean he’s risking Nick waking up violent and disoriented. The trick is to not touch him, unless Kelly wants to get hit. The trick is to give him an order.

“O’Flaherty,” Kelly says, confident and smooth. “Get up, Staff Sergeant.”

Nick yells again, something unintelligible, trapped in the dream, tears now tracking unchecked down his face, nearly sobbing, breathing way too hard for Kelly’s comfort.

“God,” Kelly mutters to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, tensing up, ready to get out of the way if Nick wakes up swinging. “O’Flaherty!” Kelly says again, more forceful. “Get the fuck up!”

Nick gasps a huge breath of air into his lungs, sitting straight up in bed, scrabbling around confusedly in the sheets, searching for a weapon, heading for the side of the bed, one foot already on the floor before Kelly can say anything.

“Hey, hey, Irish,” Kelly says quickly, much quieter now. “You were dreaming. You’re fine, babe.”

“Kels?” Nick asks brokenly.

“I’m here,” Kelly answers.

“Thank God,” Nick breathes, launching himself gracelessly to Kelly’s side of the bed, laying his head in Kelly’s lap. He reaches for Kelly, panting for breath, and Kelly is dismayed by how hard Nick’s hands shake as he takes one in his, laying his other hand on the back of Nick’s head, stroking his sweaty, sleep-tousled curls.

“I’m here,” Kelly says again, idly running his hand over Nick’s hair, back, shoulders, feeling him slowly calm down. Nick’s breaths sound to Kelly almost like sobs, and Kelly makes calming sounds. “Sh, Irish. I got you.”

Kelly closes his eyes and loses himself in the familiarity of Nick’s body under his hands, an implicit familiarity, a familiarity like home.

This is something he’s been able to do for at least a decade. Kelly thinks about all the times he has done this, has held Nick, has reassured him. _I’m here._ In the gritty deserts where their friendship was formed. In the old house in Jacksonville. In Nick’s studio by the beach, in that nebulous period before the boat and the cabin but after Kelly’s divorce. In the days after Eli’s death, when Ty was withdrawn and Nick turned instead to Kelly. So many other times.  _I got you._

If love is about showing up, is about being there, Kelly thinks, then he’s always loved Nick.

After a few minutes, Nick begins to squirm a bit under Kelly’s hands, and Kelly lets go, lets him be. Nick grabs at Kelly’s legs, trying to drag him deeper into the bed, grunting, “Come here,” and Kelly stifles a giggle over the manhandling as he slides back under the covers. Nick surprises him a little by flipping so that he’s the rare big spoon, sliding one strong arm under Kelly’s neck, wrapping the other over Kelly’s waist, resting his chin against Kelly’s shoulder. Usually Nick wants to lie nose-to-nose, wants Kelly to hold him and talk to him in his doctor’s voice, steady and calm.

But some things are easier said into the dark, Kelly thinks, as Nick begins to speak.

“I used to dream about all kinds of shit,” Nick slowly starts, trying to control the shake in his voice and in his hands, focusing his gaze on the familiar shadows in Kelly’s bedroom, his accent thicker under the duress of his night terror. “Shit I saw over there, my dad, when me and Ty got taken…” Nick sighs, and his breath ghosting over Kelly’s ear makes Kelly shudder involuntarily, goosebumps rising on his skin. “But ever since New Orleans, even while we were over there in the desert last year, even after all that shit in Scotland… All of my nightmares are you.” Nick ducks his head to press a kiss to Kelly’s skin, holding him tighter, his voice breaking. “You, fucking dying on me. For me.”

“Nicko,” Kelly murmurs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“In my dream I’m panicking because I’m just like, I need a corpsman! Where’s my fucking corpsman? Oh fuck, it’s Doc. Right here. Dying.”

“God, Nick,” Kelly says, his voice breaking. His throat is inexplicably tight, his mouth dry. Nick’s fingers have found the scar on Kelly’s chest from that bullet.

“I was in a fucking war zone, getting shot at every day and seeing dead bodies in the streets and all kinds of terrible fucked up shit, Kels, and the only thing I ever fucking dreamed about was you. Bleeding out everywhere.” Nick’s fingers still, pressing against Kelly’s scar lightly. He covers it with his palm, closing his eyes. “I would wake up thinking I was smelling blood,” he whispers roughly. “You weren’t with us over there. It… it was hard to believe you were alive until the morning sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kelly whispers, and his breath hitches in his throat, his eyes hot. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be there with you. More than anything.” Nick presses a kiss to Kelly’s back. “But I’m here now,” Kelly says, laying his hand over Nick’s on his chest, twining their fingers together. “I’m here for you.”

“You always are,” Nick says earnestly. He lets go of Kelly, tugging at his hip. “Doc,” Nick says, an unspoken command there, and Kelly rolls over, nose-to-nose with Nick now, biting his lower lip and trying not to cry.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Nick says. “I meant what I said, last time I saw you. I don’t give a fuck if our foundations are gunpowder or anything else. There will never be something else. Never a second option. Never anyone else for me. Only you.” One tear rolls down Kelly’s face, and he closes his eyes, long, dark eyelashes holding the rest at bay.

Nick reaches out and brushes the back of his hand over Kelly’s cheek, catching the tear in its track. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Kels.”

Kelly opens his eyes, which appear to Nick as an intense grey under the nightlight and the moonlight streaming weakly in through the slats of the blinds. “I love you,” Kelly whispers. “And I’m here.”

Nick wraps one arm around Kelly, twisting his fingers into Kelly’s hair and pulling him close, just as he’d done in the airport earlier in the day, pressing his nose against Kelly’s forehead as Kelly moves closer into Nick’s embrace, their legs lacing together.

Nick tries not to think of death, of war, of secrets, of murder, of blood. He tries especially not to think of marrying Kelly. Of the rest of life with Kelly. Of what Liam said about Kelly. Why does doing what’s best for Kelly always have to hurt so goddamn much? He clutches Kelly as close as he can get him.

Nick holds Kelly until he’s not freaking out quite as much, until he feels more relaxed. He pulls back, gliding the back of his hand over Kelly’s cheek again where the solitary tear had fallen, cradling Kelly’s skull in his palm, kissing Kelly with all of the gentle care he can muster. He slides his fingers over the angry, dark bruises on Kelly’s neck from earlier in the afternoon, a mixture of guilt and pride welling inside him as he recognizes the shapes of his hands and of his mouth on his lover’s skin. “Love you,” Nick breathes reverently against Kelly’s lips.

“Love you too,” Kelly replies in the same church-whisper, kissing Nick back chastely, lips barely brushing.

They lie there, and they kiss, and touch, and linger for long, sacred, suspended minutes, using caution, fingers and lips and breath skating over one another, exploring what it feels like to go slow and easy. To not be urgent.

Nick pushes everything else from his mind except Kelly, Kelly’s clever fingers dancing over him. _There is time for this_ , he tells himself, banishing Liam’s threat to his brain’s backburner, pointedly forgetting their earlier fight, outlining the lines of the dream catcher tattooed on Kelly’s ribs, trying to get his bad dreams out of his body. _Nothing bad will happen._

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone violently vibrates once, then twice, under his pillow, dinging loudly about a new text message.

“What the hell?” Nick groans, groping under the pillow, glancing at the screen. “Shit, it’s Ty.”

“Answer it,” Kelly murmurs.

 _Irish?_ the first text reads.

 _if youre awake…_ the second one says.

“Oh, Christ,” Nick says, even as a third message dings in. _nothings wrong. just wanna talk_  

“Yeah, right,” Nick mutters to the phone screen, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Kelly asks.

“He says nothing’s wrong, but he wants to talk. In the middle of the goddamn night.” It’s 12:53 a.m. in Colorado, nearly 3 in the morning in Baltimore. “What the fuck does he need at this hour?” Nick asks aloud, but he knows. He knows. Nick might dream about Kelly these days, but he knows that Ty’s bad dreams haven’t changed much since 2002.

“Call him,” Kelly says.

“Are you sure?” Nick asks. “I could just pretend to be asleep, like, you know, normal people.”

“You’re not normal,” Kelly says with a smile. “Be there for him.”

Nick sighs and taps out, _im awake, you can call me if you need to_

“Why do we both always fucking have nightmares at the same goddamn time?” he asks.

But the phone rings before Kelly can answer. Nick holds it to his ear, encircling Kelly in his arms, taking a deep, fortifying breath. Kelly lays his head on Nick’s bicep, close enough that Kelly can hear Ty’s panicked breathing on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry,” Ty says by way of greeting.

“Easy,” Kelly whispers, laying a calming hand on Nick’s wrist, tracing the lines of the knot work tattoo there.

“Hey, babe,” Nick answers, closing his eyes. “Everything okay?”

Ty is quiet for a long time, breathing heavily on the other end of the line. “Tyler?” Nick asks. “You there?”

“I needed to be sure of you,” Ty rasps, and his voice is far away, as though he is still in a landscape of blood and sand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Nick reassures. “I’m in Colorado.”

“Oh, shit,” Ty says, seeming to come back to himself. “Shit, bud, I forgot. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Nick says.

“Okay,” Ty says, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything else. “Okay.”

“Is Zane with you?” Nick asks.

Ty audibly swallows. “Uh, I kinda… hit him in the face.”

Nick stifles the urge to laugh. It’s not funny. It’s not funny. “Oh, Jesus, Ty, why’d you do that?” He claps a hand over his mouth. Not funny.

Ty starts to laugh a little, hearing the laughter in Nick’s voice. “I woke up freaking out, okay?” He busts out laughing in earnest, and so does Nick. "God, I hit him square in the nose."

Kelly rolls his eyes, trying to suppress his own giggle. “It’s not funny,” he chastises in a harsh whisper, but he smiles.

“Oh God,” Ty says, “is that Doc?”

“Yeah,” Nick chuckles. “He says it’s not funny.”

“It’s not!” Ty laughs, getting himself under control. “It’s not. I feel like shit.”

“Well go kiss it better!” Nick replies, amusement still coming through in his voice.

“Okay,” Ty says. He sighs. “Okay,” he says again, more serious. “I was freaking out, man,” Ty says. “Seeing you…” he trails off. Nick can guess at the images that were going through Ty’s mind.

“Ty,” Nick says. “It’s okay. We’re both fine.” ( _Lies_ , he thinks to himself, feeling that dart of guilt again.)

“Yeah,” Ty says in small voice. “Yeah. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

Nick smiles sadly. “Well, now you have. Go apologize to your fiancé, Christ, Beaumont.”

“Okay,” Ty says again. “Thanks, bud,” he whispers. “Miss you,” and he hangs up the phone.

Nick deflates, rolling flat onto his back, tucking his phone back under the pillow and flinging his arm over his face. “Christ,” he says. “I love him, but what a piece of fucking work he is.”

Kelly hums in quiet agreement, still leaning his head against Nick’s bicep. “Are you talking again?”

Nick frowns. “Not like before. But some.”

“Does it still stress you out?” Kelly asks after a long, silent pause, thinking of the occasional nights in the Jacksonville house when Nick and Eli would switch rooms because Nick simply couldn’t deal with Ty’s panic, or because Ty couldn’t deal with Nick’s, depending on the night, on the dream.

“That wasn’t so bad just now,” Nick concedes. “He’s a lot better recently, I guess.” Nick takes his arm off of his face, looks at Kelly. “You wanna know how our entire platoon found out about our shit, though?” Nick grimaces. “That asshole had the worst goddamn nightmares when we were back over there. It’s like the Marines _want_ him to have PTSD or something.” Nick closes his eyes. “Mas’er Sergeant, Mas’er Sergeant,” he says, clearly imitating someone else. “Sir, somethin’s wrong with Cap’n Grady, sir. Yes, PFC,” –- Nick’s voice drips with sarcasm -– “it’s called screaming in your sleep. You’ll learn all about that when you’re old enough.” He sighs heavily. “None of those kids’d seen anything bad enough to give them nightmares yet.” After a moment and another heavy exhalation, Nick shakes his head and adds darkly, “They all did eventually.”

“Hey, Irish,” Kelly says comfortingly, propping up onto one elbow, leaning forward to slide a grounding hand over Nick’s chest and shoulders, beginning to massage at the base of Nick’s neck where it meets his shoulder. Kelly leans over so close that his lips brush Nick’s forehead, lingering there until Nick opens his eyes again.

“They all thought we were badasses, though, so they didn’t give a shit about Ty’s… issues,” Nick says, glancing up into Kelly’s eyes before rolling onto his stomach under Kelly’s healing hands. Nick sighs, and the sigh morphs into a groan as Kelly’s fingers find a tense muscle in his neck. “Mmm, shit, babe,” Nick says, humming affirmatively, leaning into Kelly’s touch.

“Relax,” Kelly says, pushing more insistently against Nick’s tense muscles. “I got you.”

“Ow,” Nick gripes, tensing up as Kelly hits an especially sore spot just under his shoulder.

“Shh,” Kelly insists quietly, backing off of the pressure, gliding his palm reassuringly over Nick’s spine. “Calm. Easy. Relax.” Kelly shifts, swinging his leg over to straddle Nick, perching over the curve of Nick’s ass, starting in again on massaging Nick’s tense muscles.

“I mean, some of them had been deployed before,” Nick says, turning his head to the side, picking his irritated thought back up. “But they were so young. Nineteen fucking years old and you’re supposed to be teaching people who don’t fucking like or trust you how to be cops, soldiers? Please.” He sighs.

“Shh,” Kelly shushes. Kelly leans down and presses his lips slowly and quietly to Nick’s neck, just under his ear, his chest brushing Nick’s back. “Be here with me?” he asks, his lips touching Nick’s earlobe. He kisses the shell of Nick’s ear. “Can you come back here, Irish?”

Nick nods. Kelly sits back up and starts in again on Nick’s muscles, fingers seeking out the worst spots, digging in and relaxing them, a mixture of discomfort and pleasure blooming across Nick’s skin.

“I’ll always come back to you,” Nick whispers into the dark room.

Kelly continues to work Nick’s back for long, quiet minutes, until Nick is far more relaxed under him, nearly limp but for arching into Kelly’s touch like a pleased cat.

“Hey, Irish? I’ve been wondering about something,” Kelly says softly, and Nick is so used to Kelly’s non sequiturs at this point that he doesn’t even react, just hums wordlessly in questioning.

“For a few months, actually,” Kelly adds, his massaging fingers dipping lower and lower down Nick’s back, aligning with Nick’s hips.

“What, Doc?” Nick says.

“Have you been trying to…” Kelly purses his lips, hands still roaming Nick’s body, trying to figure out how to ask the question, finally giving up and going for the bolder approach. “I think you think you want to try bottoming. But you’re scared.”

Nick tenses up almost immediately. “Maybe,” he admits, turning his head to glance up at Kelly.

“Relax,” Kelly admonishes, his hands traveling back to Nick’s shoulders, not really massaging anymore, just stroking the skin there, idly tracing scars. “It’s okay, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Nick finally says. “I –- you’re right. I had a bad experience a long time ago. But… but I’d do anything for you, babe.”

“Okay,” Kelly breathes, blown away by Nick’s openness. “Wow, I –- Okay.” Kelly swallows nervously, licking his lips. “There… is something I’ve been wanting.” He bites his lip and starts to do that thing where he’s nervous and talks too fast. “You don’t have to, and I can tell you, but I kind of want to surprise you. But if you want to stop at any time, say the word.”

“Kels,” Nick says. “You know I trust you.” And he takes a deep breath, and lets it go, relaxing his body entirely, open and vulnerable and all for Kelly.

Kelly shudders, floored by the weight of Nick’s surrender, and he strikes, bending down again to kiss Nick’s neck, his hairline, the knobs of his spine, his shoulder blades. “Love you, Nicko,” he breathes, kissing the outlines of the Celtic cross on Nick’s back, sliding down Nick’s body, kissing lower. Kissing his hips. “So much,” Kelly adds, kissing the small of Nick’s back, the top of the curve of his ass.

“If you need me to stop, say the word,” Kelly says seriously, and kisses the swell of Nick’s ass cheeks, right, then left. He strokes Nick’s ass with calming hands, running his thumb over the edge of the cleft, carefully, slowly, pulling the cheeks apart. He realizes that he has grown hard, thinking about this, something Nick has done for him occasionally, thought in a different, more playful context. Something he has wanted to do for Nick for a long while.

Kelly feels Nick trembling under his hands. He presses his lips to Nick’s spine where it meets his tailbone, feeling a shiver go down Nick’s skin. “I got you,” Kelly says, running the flat of one palm up and down Nick’s back. His nose edges lower, delving into the valley between Nick’s cheeks. When he noses at Nick’s hole experimentally, placing a gentle kiss there, Nick tenses, arching into Kelly’s touch. “I got you,” Kelly says again, and he kisses the tight ring of muscle again, darting his tongue out to touch the sensitive skin there.

Nick gasps, and Kelly asks, “Is this okay?”

Nick nods, his dark thoughts gone, Kelly’s mouth somehow suddenly the only thing in the forefront of his mind. “I’ll tell you if it’s not. Don’t stop.” He cants his hips toward Kelly encouragingly, giving himself the room to snake a hand down to his dick, which, Kelly notes with pride, is already half-hard.

As Kelly begins kissing and licking with more enthusiasm, Nick takes himself firmly in hand, slowly stroking in time with Kelly’s mouth. His brain is going into overdrive. Fuck, this is hot. This is more than he had ever imagined. It feels strange, and yet entirely safe. Nick knows Kelly won’t hurt him.

Kelly runs his tongue around the edge of Nick’s hole, moaning quietly, and Nick realizes that Kelly, too, is hard, feels pre-come beading at the tip of his dick and landing on the back of Nick’s thigh. Nick strokes his own cock with more enthusiasm, brushing his thumb over the head, feeling his own pre-come there.

When Kelly breaches the ring of muscle, finally slipping his tongue inside, Nick gasps again. He can feel Kelly’s smile against his sensitive skin as his tongue slips in and out, kissing and lapping at the skin there, gently fucking Nick. “Kels,” Nick moans, shaking under his lover’s careful hands.

Kelly reaches one hand around Nick’s lifted hips, lacing his fingers with Nick’s and stroking Nick’s dick. _Perfect_ , some base part of Nick thinks, even though this is not anywhere close to what they normally do, to Nick’s normal fantasies. But something in him, the part of him that needs to be held, protected, physically reassured –- that part has been dreaming about this.

Kelly, too, is moaning, and the vibrations roll from his throat to his tongue to Nick’s asshole, reverberating through Nick’s entire body. Nick groans at the sensation, their entangled fingers jacking Nick quicker, harder. “Perfect,” Kelly gasps, surfacing for air, kissing the small of Nick’s back, unknowingly echoing Nick’s thoughts. “You’re perfect,” and he delves back in, and Nick nearly comes undone by the force of his words, his heart skipping and slamming against the inside of his ribcage.

Between Kelly’s mouth and hands, Nick feels himself coming closer to the idea of an orgasm, though he’s floating a strange wavelength of pleasure, one that feels unfamiliarly serious in comparison to their usual laughter-filled rough-and-tumble fucks. He pushes his hips back against Kelly, chasing a deeper sensation, and Kelly’s tongue plunges deeper, faster, and Nick cannot stop the stream of noises of appreciation, falling apart under Kelly’s attention. “Babe,” he groans, realizing that Kelly is moving his hips, rutting his rock-hard dick against the back of Nick’s thigh as he fucks Nick’s hole with his mouth.

“Come on, babe,” Nick says, rocking his body in time with Kelly's, against Kelly's, and he feels the muscles in the arch of his foot begin to jump, his toes begin to curl in. Kelly shifts his weight to his knees and to the back of Nick's body, keeping one hand on Nick and taking himself in his other hand, stroking himself urgently as his mouth works at Nick's skin.

“Kels,” Nick says again, trying to put a warning into his tone, and Kelly hums a moan of understanding, of mutual pleasure, that vibrates through Nick’s body.

“Oh, fuck,” Nick pants, drawing urgent gulps of air in through his nose, his whole body trembling, feeling the warmth of pending orgasm washing over him. “Don’t stop, babe, don’t fucking stop,” and he lingers for a long moment at the highest point of pleasure before beginning to come all over the sheets and Kelly’s hand, his hole contracting intensely around Kelly’s tongue. “Fuck,” Nick cries, gasping sharply, arching his back, shuddering uncontrollably, riding the orgasm for seemingly forever.

“Fuck,” Kelly echoes against Nick’s sensitive skin, his heavy, quick breath against the small of Nick’s back making Nick shudder again. He feels Kelly’s come spilling onto his skin, his back, his thigh, his ass, and he is overwhelmed.

“I love you,” Nick gasps, and Kelly jerks once more against his skin, a little more to go. “Love you,” Nick says again, shaking uncontrollably, still floating on the high of the pleasure, of the novelty, of the intensity.

Kelly lowers himself back onto the bed, breathing heavily, resting his forehead on Nick. After a moment, he says, “Stay,” and gets up. Nick can hear him in the bathroom, flipping on the light, brushing his teeth, running water. Nick is unable to move, lying on his stomach, trying to slow his breathing down, basking in the feel of Kelly’s spunk cooling on his skin -- which is not a thing he would’ve thought he would’ve basked in if you’d’ve asked him a few years ago, but now it means: Love.

Kelly comes back with a damp washcloth, cleaning Nick off, kissing the knobs of his spine individually as he does, pressing soft words of affirmation, of encouragement, into Nick’s skin, bone-deep. Kelly returns the cloth to the bathroom once he’s satisfied that Nick’s cleaned up enough to sleep, then slides into bed, pulling the quilt up, tugging Nick closer to Kelly’s side of the bed, away from the dampness of Nick’s own spill. The sheets can wait until the morning.

Nick nestles into Kelly’s arms, feeling supremely relaxed and blissed-out, still riding the come-down, his nightmare a distant memory.

“I’m here. I got you,” Kelly whispers, tucking his chin into Nick’s shoulder, stroking his palm against Nick’s ribs, sticking one foot between Nick’s calves. Nick thinks he would be satisfied if he never left this bed again.

“I got you, babe,” Kelly says again, punctuating the statement with a kiss to Nick’s shoulder blade. “And I love you.”


	4. 3.5: Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the kind of short chapter! I am thinking of this chapter as 3.5 instead of 4, because 4 is already quite long, and this is just kind of an interlude/bridge between 3 and 4.

**September: The conversation** goes like this: “Are you listening?” Kelly asks, glancing over at Nick, who sits next to him on the ground.

“Hm?” Nick startles.

“Were you listening to what I was saying about Javier? If you’re gonna have him in your group tomorrow, you gotta know where his epipen is at all times. Kid is like, crazy allergic to bee stings.”

Nick sighs and lays his head on Kelly’s shoulder, staring into the crackling campfire. When he’d told Kelly two months ago that he’d help out with one of these nature expedition things, it’d seemed like a good idea. Now, though, he’s kind of wishing he hadn’t. He can barely focus on anything but his hands -- and that’s not good when you’ve got a dozen 8, 9 and 10 year-olds to watch out for in the woods.

“Okay,” Nick says. “Yeah. Javier’s epipen. Got it.”

“Are you okay, Irish?” Kelly asks.

Nick kisses the worry lines on Kelly’s forehead. “Fine, babe. I’m fine. Just tired.”

Kelly looks at him like he doesn’t believe him. “You’ve been... off.”

Nick frowns into the fire. “Work.” He glances at Kelly. “Missing you.” He kisses him on the mouth insistently, making his point. “The usual.” He kisses Kelly again, pushing him onto his back, swinging one leg over him, playfully grinding his hips against Kelly’s. Kelly laughs softly and pushes against Nick’s shoulders. Somehow they end up sitting back up with Kelly’s legs tight around Nick’s hips.

“Not with the kids all sleeping right there,” Kelly chides, smiling and rocking his hips against Nick’s even as he gestures with his chin at the neat row of tents on the other side of the campfire.

“You sure?” Nick asks, grinning, grazing his teeth over Kelly’s neck.

“Yeah.” Kelly runs a warm hand over Nick’s tousled curls, his touch lingering at the base of Nick’s neck. “When we get home, though,” he whispers, his lips brushing Nick’s earlobe, sending a shiver down Nick’s spine.

Kelly leans in and kisses Nick once more, nipping at his bottom lip. Nick smiles into the kiss, but he pulls away first, unwrapping Kelly’s legs from around him and repositioning him across his lap. Nick puts his arms innocently around Kelly’s waist, leaning his head against Kelly’s shoulder, staring down at his hands.

\------

 **October: The conversation** goes like this: “You didn’t tell me,” Kelly says from where he leans in the doorway, and it’s almost a question but it comes out too flat, a statement.

Nick glances over from where he’s getting ready to make breakfast. He’s holding the shell of an egg he just cracked into a bowl, ready to be whipped up into omelet batter, but he freezes when he sees what’s in Kelly’s hand. A bit of egg drips out of the cracked shell and onto the counter.

“You didn’t tell me about this, babe,” Kelly says, walking into the galley, the orange pill bottle in his hand a damning piece of evidence, a concrete confirmation of Nick’s failures.

Kelly looks at the label more closely, reads the words Nick doesn’t even know how to pronounce, and Nick, still frozen, can see the cogs in Kelly’s Doc brain moving, can see Kelly’s eyes narrowing.

“When did it get this bad?” Kelly asks, his tone softening. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nick looks away and throws the eggshell into the trashcan. He grabs a towel to wipe up the spilled egg, but Kelly stops him, one hand on his wrist. “Hey, Irish.”

Nick easily pulls out of Kelly’s grip, not looking at him, cleaning the counter. “It’s fine, Doc,” he says.

Kelly angles his body against the counter, pressing into Nick’s space. “Nicko,” he says. “Talk to me.”

Nick shakes his head, trying to pull away. “It got worse, I went to the doctor, I got a prescription that makes it better. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

“Because you didn’t tell me?” Kelly offers. “I thought you really didn’t want to be on medication?”

“I don’t,” Nick replies quietly. “But, hey. I’m getting old. Whatever.”

Kelly frowns. “Don’t do this to me.”

“What, get old?”

“No, asshole.” Kelly winds his arms around Nick’s waist, pressing his ear to Nick’s chest, calming himself with the sound of his heartbeat. Nick’s arms almost automatically encircle Kelly’s shoulders. “Don’t shut me out, Nicko,” Kelly says, his words muffled against Nick’s body. “Please. Don’t conveniently forget to tell me shit like this.”

Nick huffs a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t conveniently forget, okay, Doc?" he says bitterly. "I -- we only get so much time together. Why spend it talking about unpleasant shit like my essential tremor?”

Kelly looks up and finally meets Nick’s gaze for the first time since they rolled out of bed 15 minutes ago. “I love you,” he says quietly. Almost defensively.

Nick closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Kelly’s. “I know.” He sighs again. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just --“ He kisses Kelly, soft and lingering, a brush of tongue. “Don’t tell the guys.”

“Why?” Kelly starts, but Nick cuts him off, kissing him again.

“Just don’t, okay?”

\------

 **November: The conversation** goes like this: “What the hell is going on with Lucky?” Owen glances furtively around the kitchen in Ty and Zane’s row house.

“I don’t know,” Kelly says. Owen had roped Kelly into Thanksgiving dinner dish duty, citing nostalgia for the Jacksonville house at the holidays, but the second he’d turned the water on, he’d started in on his whispered interrogation about Nick.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses.

“I told you, man, I don’t know what’s wrong. Or that anything’s wrong in the first place.”

Owen narrows his eyes at Kelly, disbelieving.

Zane walks into the kitchen with the dish of mashed potatoes.

“Grady with you?” Owen asks. A loud chorus of cheering and booing erupts from the den.

“Nah,” Zane says, digging in the cabinet that holds their Tupperware. “Football.”

Owen rounds on him. “Are Ty and Nick talking?”

Zane pauses in his actions for a moment, thinking. “Kind of?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Not like before, I guess, but then Ty isn’t...” He trails off, reappearing a moment later out of the cabinet with enough bowls and lids to divide the potatoes into servings for guests to take home. “I don’t really know. I haven’t heard anything especially negative about it in awhile.”

“Hm,” Owen muses. “Maybe it’s not that.”

He turns back to Kelly, accusatorially waving a wet, soapy sponge in his direction. “You’re either lying to me, Doc, or you’re lying to yourself.” When Kelly raises his eyebrows questioningly, Owen says, “Come on, man. How long have we known O? What does he look like when he’s about to bend?” He gestures vaguely to the den with the sponge. “Does he not look kind of like he looked earlier tonight?”

“I mean --” Kelly shrugs, recalling Nick’s clouded, closed expression that kept passing over him during dinner, frantically thinking, _please, God, no, be wrong, the signs are right, but that can’t be right, maybe it’s just the seasonal depression, or a side effect of the medication, or being in the same space as Ty for the first time in a long while, or --_ “I don’t know about that.”

“How do you not know, man!” Owen shakes his head and turns silently back to the dishes in the sink.

“Do you want me to bring it up later to Ty? In private?” Zane asks.

Kelly’s “no” drowns out Owen’s “yes.”

\------

 **December: The conversation** goes like this: “Nicko?”

It is Christmas Eve, and Kelly has woken up to an empty bed.

No response.

Snow is falling softly outside, and when Kelly glances out of the bedroom window, he sees, illuminated by a big, bright half-moon, Nick, sitting on the porch swing, wearing sweatpants and slippers and the fleece throw from the arm of the couch around his bare shoulders, which shake. He smokes a joint and keeps passing his hand under his eyes like he’s crying.

Kelly groans and slides into his flannel pajama pants and the blue Navy hoodie he wore earlier to shovel the driveway and slips his bare feet into his duck boots and goes downstairs.

“Hey, babe?” Kelly calls, leaning in the frame of the open storm door. “Come inside?”

Nick glances over at him with a dark look. “Bad dream,” Nick says quietly, not moving.

Kelly sighs dramatically and tromps out to the porch, perching himself in Nick’s lap instead of on the snow-dusted swing.

“Irish,” Kelly says. He leans his head against Nick’s chest, plucking the joint from Nick’s fingers and taking a hit. Kelly looks up, running a smooth palm against Nick’s stubbled jawline, taking in his red-rimmed eyes, gone a dull, coppery green. “Come in before you freeze to death.” He pockets the joint for later, and stands, offering a hand to Nick.

As soon as Kelly closes the storm door, Nick folds in on him, pressing him against the kitchen counter, kissing him like he’s drowning.

“Hey,” Kelly soothes, kissing him back comfortingly, dusting the snowflakes from Nick’s curls, running his hands up and down Nick’s cold back. “Hey. What’s going on? What’s wrong, Nicko?”

Nick shakes his head. “I can’t talk about it right now,” he says in a quiet, far-away voice. Some black, frightened thing that Kelly doesn’t recognize lurks in his eyes. “Bad dream.”

Kelly frowns. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Nick nods but doesn’t say anything else. Kelly kisses him, running his hands over Nick’s cool skin, lingering with lips and fingertips at the corners of his mouth, the tip of his nose, the damp tips of his eyelashes, the soft hollow of his throat. Nick barely reacts but to lean in closer. Kelly frowns again.

“Are you okay? Do you want something warm? Tea? You’re weirding me out, Irish.”

Nick nods. “Sure, Kels.” He takes a deep breath and shivers and straightens his shoulders with what seems to Kelly to be a not insignificant amount of effort. “That tea you got from the farmer’s market the other day would hit the spot.”

Kelly lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he sets the kettle on the stove and gets mugs out of the cabinet, glad for some sign of normalcy as Nick shuffles over to perch on a bar stool at the counter.

In the morning they will get up and it will be Christmas morning and Nick will give him the dream catcher, the one with little pieces of their lives together woven into it, and Nick will smile and laugh and kiss and make pancakes and spend the rest of the morning fucking Kelly deep into the living room rug and the shower tiles and the mattress, but even as Kelly trembles in pleasure under Nick’s hands, he will hold that frightened, haunted look in Nick’s eyes in the back of his mind, turning it over and over worriedly.

Later, Kelly will wonder why he didn’t push back against that look a little harder.

**Author's Note:**

> Abi Roux's sandbox, I'm just playing happily.
> 
> See additional notes on [my tumblr](http://inconocible.tumblr.com/post/130028549152/fic-days-like-these-14).


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